


Who Wants To Live Forever

by The Tinglenator (Misha_McCarthy)



Series: Supernatural One-Shots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Dean Winchester, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Dean Winchester, Bickering, Brotherly Angst, Caring Sam Winchester, Character Study, Cure for the Mark of Cain (Supernatural), De-Aged Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), One Shot, POV Alternating, POV Dean Winchester, POV Male Character, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Protectiveness, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_McCarthy/pseuds/The%20Tinglenator
Summary: What do you get when Dean decides to stay at the ripe age of 14 to avoid dealing with the Mark? Sam’s brotherly care, patience, and lots and lots of bickering. One-shot set just after 10x12.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877215
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	Who Wants To Live Forever

Sam is still shocked sometimes when he glances to the right, and remembers there's a reason Dean's not driving. It was pitch black on an empty dirt road when he did it again. The only sound was the radio turned low enough to match the purr of the Impala, and Sam realized he'd gotten used to a more quiet vehicle. Less random radio blasts. Less jokes. Less glances. It used to be that Dean would pointedly ignore a bitchface from Sam, or meet it with his own grin. But now when Sam found himself looking over for a reassuring gaze, his heart shrank a tad. Dean wasn't just an inch or two downward- when he made the mistake of looking that high, it was just the window. Dean was more like a foot down. Leaning against the door, eyes drawn to the passing brush.  
He felt inclined to say something. Anything. They'd left the last abandoned house an hour ago, and the older of the Winchesters- the younger?- had hardly said a word since. It wasn't like him. Dean kept insisting he was fine, and Sam knew better. There hadn't really been a difference attitude-wise at the start, however, so he said little on the subject. It was weird for him. It was definitely weird for Dean. Usually, ignoring these kinds of things let them both get past it. They’d had plenty of time to adjust, and neither of them had done anything to each other. There shouldn't have been such a distance between them.  
An inquiry about why Dean seemed so solemn was on the tip of his tongue when he noticed Dean was cradling his right arm, and almost nonchalantly hiding it from view. "Dean," he said, turning the music off subconsciously.  
"Yeah?" came the high pitched voice, still directed towards the window. It wasn't incredibly high pitched, but it was too high for Sam's liking. It wasn't Dean.  
"What the hell happened to your arm?"  
"You saw me thrown into that wall," he answered defensively. What little Sam could see of his brother's face made it seem like Dean had caught himself acting defensively. Abnormal. Normal, now. "It's nothing. I'll pop a Tylenol and be good for tomorrow."  
He sighed. That could be a lie, but he really didn't know. It might be better for Dean if he ignored it, or there may truly be a problem Dean wanted to keep hidden- which would inevitably backfire at some point.

* * *

When Dean heard a second sigh within the minute, he knew Sam wasn't impressed. Since when had that changed? His younger brother was always griping about something. The question had merit this time, though. His wrist hurt like hell to move and he was pretty sure it was swelling, neither of which could be any good. The funny thing was that Sam managed to complain less than before. Or at least, he seemed to be letting a lot more things go. Dean knew why. He didn't like the rationale, but it would be pretty unreasonable to get angry that someone was agreeing with you all the time, even if they were doing so out of pity.  
"Dude, what's up with the arm?" Sam repeated three songs and an ad break later. The fidgeting to his right was almost distracting.  
"If you're using this as a break-in to mullet rock discussion, I ain't interested."  
"No, Dean- really. Do you want me to pull over?"  
"Hell no. Why?"  
Sam felt himself sighing again before he could prevent it. He didn't feel like getting into an argument, so his reply took a moment. "You know, bones don't stop growing until you're out of puberty-"  
"Sam. C'mon, man, can't I not hear about stunted growth for one day?"  
The brothers' eyes met for the first time in a while. Neither said anything for a minute. "... Is it broken?" Sam asked quietly.  
Dean directed his gaze back to the outside world, which was moving by slightly slower. "I don't think so. I'm fine."  
"You're fourteen, and y-"  
"No, I'm not." The words came out decisively, as if a lot of time had been reserved for thinking about it. Yet Sam heard it no differently from a typical it's-not-a-faze tone.  
"Yes, you are, Dean. You chose to stay young so that you'd lose the Mark of Cain. Your memory might be perfect, but you're more like a two-thousands' kid than an eighties. And you know what? Sometimes, you might not notice, but people think I'm your dad. They give me a hassle about why you're not in school, and all women in a hundred miles ask if I'm single. You- you see waitresses giving you free scoops of ice cream, and all I see is the vamp we're supposed to be tracking eyeing you like candy. I don't know how the hell you think this is a solution, but you're not you. Everything's not just-"  
"Rainbows." Dean shifted in his seat so that he was faced towards the front of the Impala. "I know that, but now I'm not half demonic. I'm not about to cause some new apocalypse if I destroy the Mark. It wouldn't be perfect, but everything would be fine if you could just accept that."  
"Accept that my brother is too young to go on hunts, drink, or hell, even drive? Accept that if anything- and I mean anything- gets its hands on you, you could be toast in an instant? I can't. I can't do that, Dean."  
"I'm not a porcelain doll, Sammy."  
"You're damn close. Hell, I know you know this. I… I see you grab beers every other minute. I held off telling you about this case because I didn't want you throwing up before we were out the door. I can't even bring myself to remind you of how bad that is for your health because I need twice as many myself. It's… this will never work."  
Dean refused to meet his eye. "I know you don't like it. You didn't like going to hell either, right?"  
Hell. The Cage. "What about it?"  
"You went there to stop Lucifer. Granted, my reason was far less noble, but I went to Hell so you’d be safe. And this…"  
"They're all sacrifices. Always sacrifices." His knuckles on the steering wheel had turned white.

* * *

Dusting off and bandaging up was still more awkward than before. Dean had cut his hands many a time, requiring his younger- older, at this point- brother's stitching, but now his hands were fresh and soft. They were also smaller and harder to work with. "Can't you hold still?" he mumbled.  
When he looked up from where he knelt, Sam noticed tears on the edge of escape. Dean gave him a glare of confusion and then figured it out and turned his head away.  
"You okay?" Scissors, snap, wrap. Everything was piled into a kit on the floor and thrown into a heap with Sam's other stuff.  
" 'Course." His tear-filled voice claimed otherwise.  
"Dean…"  
He snatched his hand away and jumped onto the bed, his back to Sam. The less hormonal Winchester was feeling like an idiot more and more in recent weeks. On one hand, Dean didn't want, nor would he accept, being treated as anything less than the most capable man you've ever seen. On the other hand... all of his knowledge was basically useless if he couldn't put it to use. And he certainly could NOT make use of it in the body of a slim 14-year-old. But Dean didn't see things that way, and Sam was scared he never would. Almost every time they came back from a quick hunt he was hurt, and each time he noticed Dean mentally kicking himself. He didn't want to see that. He didn't want to piss off his brother either- not with the power he could hold over Dean now, physically. It didn’t feel right to get into a fight anymore. But despite his best efforts to make the most reasonable calls, Dean grew more distant every day.

**OOO**

Sam looked up from his laptop the next morning, only to see Dean taking more pills with his coffee. His eyes were slow to move away, and his older- younger?- brother finally caught him staring.  
He wondered if Dean would start screaming or something. He had no idea at this point.  
Boom. There he was in the opposing chair, at the other end of the cheap wooden table. Dean looked way more worn and sleep-deprived than even a stressed high schooler, but Sam kept his eyes locked on a police report. Anything he said at this point served to make things worse.  
"Everything hurts so much more."  
Alright, police report be damned. Dean doesn't whine. He certainly doesn't sit down to the table and softly explain what's bothering him.  
"I know, I know." His younger- older? Sam's brother raised a hand. "But you're giving me weird looks. I do notice when I'm drawing the chicks' attention for you, dude. Just thought I'd tell you about... this, so you know I'm not trying to overdose or something stupid."  
Sam couldn't stop a small chuckle. "Are you sure it's just badly bruised?"  
"Yeah. Guess I just felt less pain as I got older."  
He flipped his long hair back a bit in relief. "Honestly, I was worried you were going to go emo-teen on me."  
"Give it two more years."


End file.
